Bus-Stop
Late as in yesterdays,
My morn minutes creep,
Tensed under the dew drops,
At country bus-stop.
Boys young dream;
Girls shy droop;
All wait while minds roam,
Till the bus does stop.
Buses come, and buses go,
Never moved the stop as village mine.
Shops two, and the tea stall one are
Breathing through the lungs of rustics.
Sellers, workers, and beggars;
At the bus-stop all roost,
Barter their experiences,
Then flit to their worms fast.
Waiting the same bus,
Men in creeds dissident,
And in hues diverse:
All blend one in intent.
Always I miss my bus,
Being late everyday;
The Boss frowns and forgives,
Sure I would get the right bus one day.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Added by Poetry Lover
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